The Butcher's Bill
by Anonymaustrap
Summary: Flash Fiction of Evlyn Yassal, Host of Evlyn Lahn
Those who hadn't been on the away team couldn't conceive this prim, fastidious Cardassian had tortured hundreds. They hadn't seen the rooms, the implements or remains. They hadn't read the excruciatingly detailed logs. But those who returned from Gul Maket's crippled freighter to the U.S.S. Valkyrja asked, "only hundreds?"

He sat as nonchalant as one could, cuffed and bolted to a table. "I must say, Evlyn – may I call you Evlyn? You have lovely green eyes. What do the Terrans call it? Jade?"

Evlyn Yassal hid her disgust behind indifference as she leaned forward in her chair opposite Maket. "Captain Yassal will do."

"Yes, they are so nicely offset by your dark complexion, but I think something darker would really make them sparkle. I could mount them in a vitrine of black velvet. The trick would be letting you keep your vision so you watch what happens to the rest of you."

"Bold talk for a prisoner."

His voice had a playful lilt. "Are you sure I'm the prisoner?"

She placed a finger alongside her head. "Let's see. I could consult the manifest of the brig of my ship, or I could ask any one of them-" She looked back at the pair of guards. Tight-jawed, hands on phasers. They had been on the away team. The Gul's attitude pissed them off.

His chains rattled as he waved them off. "I haven't interrogated many Trill. The torments one could make from stimulating your joining receptors would be – oh, but you wouldn't be a suitable subject, would you? Those trilly-bits were lost in other experiments, weren't they?"

She hid her surprise behind a sanguine mask while a wire in her mind tightened. How much had he learned from those he'd tortured? No wonder her orders had been so explicit.

He leaned across the table as a confidant and friend. She forced herself not to lean away. "Don't be alarmed, Captain. You might call me what the Terrans refer to as 'a fan'. Imagine, a Federation Starship coupled with the latitude granted by a certain Section - you have established an impressive tally. Covert operations, assassination and-" he held up his hands until the chain jerked tight, "-rendition. I consider it an honor they sent you, the Butcher of Thieurrul II. How is it that you came by the title?"

 _Because the Tal'Shiar find more glory in fighting the Butcher of Thieurrul II than Captain Yassal. Because the Klingon lore singers didn't think 'The mission that went_ pon _-_ farr _' had the right cadence. Because Starfleet doesn't always want or need to know what it takes to hold the Federation together. Because leaving a stack of bodies makes the next hero consider their life choices._

"Because stories grow in the telling. I do what has to be done."

"Just doing your job. Passionless. Mechanistic. I pity you, errand girl."

She shook her head and smirked. "So you kept all those holo-recordings out of passion for your art, and not to blackmail our mutual employer when even they told you to stop?"

"One does not give art decrees. My recordings were for research. Self-Improvement. Didn't they teach you anything in Starfleet Academy? Any common torturer can take a plasma torch to the bottom of someone's feet. An interrogator knows suspense." He paused and smiled. "But, there are additional benefits to keeping records, and using them wisely - like bringing you to me."

She pulled back into her chair. "To you?"

Maket unveiled a tiny, menacing smile. "I'll explain. You'll send communication that I am in custody. Safeguards I have in place release certain information. Nothing devastating, but I'll have your command's attention. When they realize how much I can really hurt them, they'll express contrition. I'll be the soul of forgiveness and only ask that you be remanded to my care."

Evlyn went cold as pieces fell into place. "They wouldn't-"

"They would, and have. I'm not the only keeper of inconvenient secrets, am I, Captain?" He sighed with theatrical regret. "It's a tough call, but isn't that what your organization is all about? Extraordinary measures? You think your crew loyal? To you? They'll do as they're told - to preserve the Federation, at any cost."

Evlyn clenched her jaw. She'd done it herself - quietly disposed of those who'd gone too far. She never knew if they really had. "Maybe, but they've seen your collection."

Maket tsked and shook his head. "That must have been against orders."

Evlyn shrugged with a faint smile. "Shouldn't art be shared?"

"Were they impressed?"

 _Even butchers get tired of the smell of meat._ The chair screeched against the tile floor as she slid it back. "Our conversation is over."

Maket laughed. "Hardly. Your superiors expect containment; my insurance promises quite the opposite. Nothing you conceive of will make me reveal its location. What will you do, butcher? I am immune to your worst."

Yassal sighed with exaggerated helplessness. "You have me there." At her nod, the guards turned and left. "I have little errands to run, so I will leave you to the experts. They might have questions-"

A figure materialized next to Maket and flickered.

"-they might not."

He beheld himself for several moments and forced a nervous laugh. "Impressive - this is the holodeck, not the brig. But that's your surprise? My interrogator looks like me?"

"Oh no. It is you - a holographic version synthesized from all your logs and research."

More copies materialized until a half dozen surrounded the Gul. They steepled their fingers across their chests and then smiled to each other. The real Gul's gaze shot between them.

He struggled to his feet before the chains yanked down. "Starfleet will burn for this."

"It should, for dealing with you. Either way, you'll be the last to be interrogated by Gul Maket. Who knows? You might even surprise yourself, considering who they see you as."

She paused at the door. As it slid shut, the simulacrum said to Maket. "May I call you Evlyn?"


End file.
